Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 2

 

Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 2

I eat breakfast quickly, rinse out the bowl, and jump into the shower. It’s still quiet in the house, so I assume my roommates are still asleep.

The water blasts from the showerhead, hot and powerful, pushing me back slightly. I close my eyes and let the heat wash over me. As I stand there, I suddenly feel like someone’s watching me. My eyes snap open, and a shadow appears on the shower curtain.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice hesitant.

There’s no response. I peek out from behind the curtain, but no one’s there. I close the shower curtain again, and the shadow has disappeared. Must be my imagination, I think, shaking off the strange feeling.

I finish up, get dressed, and head into the living room. My mind is racing this morning. There’s so much to think about, so much to prepare for today. I need to make sure I’ve got everything I’ll need.

The layout of the house is simple but cozy, sparsely decorated. In the living room, two couches face each other, separated by a round wicker table topped with a glass pane. The prints on the couches are loud—pinks and oranges, like something straight out of an '80s beach house. On the opposite wall, the television sits atop a glass shelf, suspended between two wicker towers.

The living room opens into the dining room, where a long table surrounded by six chairs occupies the space. The chairs match the furniture in the living room, and an oval mirror hangs behind the table, pulling everything together—of course, made of wicker.

I hear the familiar sounds of Regis and Kathy Lee still playing on the television. A new roommate bounds down the stairs, waving in my direction.

“Morning!” he shouts, before disappearing into the kitchen to make breakfast.

I walk over to the dining room and pull open the curtains. The window looks out onto the parking lot, where three vans are parked, ready to take us to rehearsal. I’ve been told that if the vans aren’t in use, we’re allowed to borrow them for outings. I’m a little hesitant, though—my first experience driving on these roads was, to put it lightly, harrowing.

One by one, cast members begin to filter past the window, heading to the vans. For some reason, I feel like a kid on the first day of school—except this time, instead of pencils and books, it’s all about dance clothes and performance gear.

I grab my coat and head out the door, ready to face whatever the day brings.

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